


A Bad Cocktail

by FullSizeRender



Series: Stardew Valley One-Shots [3]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger, Depression, F/M, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Sweet, and a whole lot of, but for now it's, it will be in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 05:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13357416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullSizeRender/pseuds/FullSizeRender
Summary: The second part of the Shane drabbles that my girlfriend commissioned me for. Surprise! It gets worse!(I'm gonna try to put these out a little faster, sorry for the delay)





	A Bad Cocktail

Shane hates winter. The cold, the need to bundle up, the ‘holiday cheer’ that everyone seems to have…it's disgusting. Then again, he hates a lot of things. He hates Pelican Town, he hates needing to hide his drinking habits from Jas, he hates the bright decorations strung up for the Winter Star feast and he downright despises needing to give someone a piece of garbage to celebrate another disappointing day at the end of the year. However, there's one person he loathes above all else:

 

Ivy.

 

Ever since their chance encounter a few months ago, Shane has seen her around town more and more. Those bright pink curls bounced as she skipped from place to place, plucking requests off of the notice board with joy and enthusiasm. She cheerfully chatted people up as she went to and from her farm, spreading that kindness like the disease it is. Slowly but surely she became Pelican Town's rising star, and not even his fortress of drunkenness was a safe from people singing her praises. Friday nights were the absolute worst of the worst.

 

“Can you believe what Ivy got me? Just because?!” Pam's sheer joy was attention commanding, strong enough to make Shane sick to his stomach. Or maybe that was just the beer. “She actually went out into the desert and found me some cactus fruit! It’s people like her that make the world a little less rotten.”

 

“That’s nothin,” Willy chuckles, grinning from ear to ear. Shane’s never seen the poor bastard so happy. He’s never seen him happy at all, in fact. “I left a note up asking for a squid on the board and y’know what? She brought me four of ‘em! I haven’t eaten calamari that good in a long time! I’d buy her a drink, but she’s such a busy body. Maybe I’ll send her a recipe…”

 

Most nights he can stomach it long enough to black out and miss the conversations, but Fridays he stumbles off into the dark, plopping himself down on the edge of a dock with a bottle of whiskey to finish what he started. It’s the only place he can truly be himself: sad. As he sits, liquor in hand, he takes stock of just how miserable his existence is.

 

JojaMart is a nightmare. No chance to be promoted, the pay is garbage and Morris is constantly telling him to smile because it ‘moves more product’.

 

“Friendly service is the cornerstone of JojaMart! It’s what makes people come back for more!” Morris exclaimed with fervor. Sure, it’s his job to remain optimistic about the outlook of the store, but Shane knew better than to think that people actually enjoyed coming in. The place was only good for a paycheck.

 

“If smiling is what people honestly come in for, then I’d probably agree. But you’re lying to yourself if you think that’s why people walk into this shithole.” Shane grumbled with disdain. No one’s gonna force him to smile without a fight. “Don’t try to bullshit me, too.”

 

Shane violently throws the booze back, swallowing gulps of the brown liquid as if responding directly to his boss’ naïve remarks. His eyes water from the sudden rush of pins and needles clawing its way down his throat, and as he sets the bottle back down on his leg he notes that a fourth of it is gone. That withered husk inside of him known as a good idea weakly suggests that maybe he drinks too much too fast, but the demons speak louder. They remind him just how angry he _should_ be. What’s worse than JojaMart, they ask?

 

Being judged.

 

He pretends not to notice, but Shane is acutely aware of the dirty looks that Marnie shoots at him during his ‘episodes’. The things she mutters to the folks in the bar when she needs to come get him. The way she keeps him away from Jas. Jas, oh god. The one good thing in his life, and he can’t seem to pull himself together enough to run and play with her when she asks.

 

“She’s made a friend, Shane. Did you know that?” Marnie asked him condescendingly, struggling to hold him upright after dragging him home yet again.

 

“Sssure I did. Jas is a hell of a kid.” Shane slurred, dull eyes watching the ground spin under his feet like a merry-go-round. No puking this time though. He’s learned to suppress the urge after waking Jas up a few too many times. He can’t always have the flu.

 

“What’s the kid’s name, Shane?” Her russet eyes narrowed to slits, like a predator watching for weakness. She’s caught him in a lie, and he’s too drunk to wriggle out.

 

“…George?” His response was blatantly wrong. The predator seized upon the opportunity, and snatches its victim up with ease.

 

“I don’t have the energy to tell you how ridiculous that answer was. Just think about that: you don’t know anything about her friend, and you barely spend any time with her. Yet you have the nerve to ask me why I don’t let you play with her.”

 

“Of course I have the damn nerve. She’s MY goddaughter. I’m practically her father, Marnie. If I wanna play with my kid, I’m gonna.”

 

“Listen here, Shane. I’m only gonna say this once.” Marnie yanked the drunkard by his collar, pulling him in uncomfortably close. “I knew Jas’ father. He was a good man. Don’t ever – for a SECOND – think that you’re anything close to her father.”

 

Shane’s eyes are watering before he’s even had a sip of the whiskey, but as he guzzles the booze he blames the alcohol for his compromised emotions. The demons are in an uproar now, the JojaMart employee quietly seething. A full scale riot has broken out in his heart, and the guards are nowhere in sight. Ivy, they say. Think about how much you hate Ivy.

 

And hate he does.

 

Ivy appeared from thin air one day, helped him off the ground and suddenly she’s the talk of the town. Handing out gifts to strange people she’s never met, working to improve the little town – and for what? No one did stuff like that for free. Ever. The world’s a shitty place to be. Everyone has an ulterior motive. Shane just preferred to be upfront about it all. Was she desperate for attention? Trying to leave the town in her debt? Whatever it was, he saw her everywhere. Ivy the goddamn saint, constantly on the move. Always working on something or visiting someone. Who does she-

 

“Shane?” The disheveled man nearly falls off of the dock in shock as he whirls around to find those familiar pink curls standing there, arms folded across her faded overalls with a frown.

 

“ _You._ ” He growls, using the bottle as a crutch as he slowly but surely stands upright. “Th’ hell do _you_ want?”

 

“A little birdy told me you’d be here. Are you doing okay?” The concern in her voice is sweet, genuine. Abhorrent.

 

“Do I look okay to you?!” He raises his voice more than he intends to, but the demons cheer him on. Get louder, they say.

 

“You look like you need a cold shower and some coffee. And I can give you both, I just wanted a chance to talk-“

 

“Oh really? You wanna talk to me? Why’s that? So you can 'drag me out of hell'? You wanna be my savior! Help the poor drunk man get on his feet!” More, the demons clamor, his heart pounding against his rib cage! “I know your type. You’re selfish. You like to think you’re a good person but all you’re not. You know you're not.”

 

Ivy is speechless, stunned. Her jaw hangs slack, painfully taken aback at the sharp descent into anger. The demons are screaming, urging him to continue the onslaught.

 

“You just see me as a project. You see ALL of us as projects. You come from your…your cushy life in the city or whatever, wanting to do more. Help the poor people out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere because it makes you feel a little better. Well guess what?!” He throws the partially filled bottle against the dock as hard as his uncoordinated arms will let him. The crash and tinkling of glass seems to last an eternity, echoing out before becoming lost in the sea.

 

“I’m. Not. A project.” He hisses. Tears stream down his face like a broken beer tap, the heat in his cheeks more intense than any booze he’s ever swallowed. He can’t figure out why he’s crying, but he’s too far gone to care. “I know I’m fucked up. Alright? I don’t need your pity. I don’t need you to check in on me. I don’t want you looking at me all sadly from across the town square, wondering what you can do for me. I don’t need YOU.”

 

He intentionally shoulders past her as he storms away from the dock, nearly falling as they collide. The demons help him find the strength to stumble home alone. For the first time in god knows how long, he no longer feels as though he’s in control of himself. He swears he hears a sob as he shuffles away.

 

He can’t find the words to describe how he’s feeling. Is it shame? Disappointment? Anger? Is this what rock bottom is like? Just as she had before, Ivy left him with more questions about himself than answers. It’s infuriating. But by the time he’s made it home, he’s made up his mind.

 

He’s gonna drink himself to death, and there’s not a damn thing Ivy or anyone else is gonna do about it.


End file.
